


Sleep Song

by immawriteyouthings



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Cursing in Khuzdul, Everybody Lives, F/M, Insomnia, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Reader-Insert, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immawriteyouthings/pseuds/immawriteyouthings
Summary: Oín had offered you draughts and herbs, assuring you that they’d ease your mind and finally let you slumber. But they hadn’t. And you knew it was because you hadn’t been honest with the healer. You’d told him that you hadn’t been able to sleep since the battle; the blood, the death, the chaos of it all jolting you awake in the night. That kind of sleeplessness was common among warriors. Oín was prepared for that.But that wasn’t why you weren’t sleeping. The real reason was far too embarrassing to mention.





	Sleep Song

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a couple imagines from tumblr, originally posted on that there [navy blue website.](https://immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com/post/144709405031/sleep-song-part-1)
> 
> Slowly moving all of my stuff from tumblr over, bear with me!

It was  _so_  dark.

Infinitely dark.

Impossibly dark.

There was dark  _upon_  the dark and that darkness had bred and produced even more darkness to crowd in around your eyes. Oh, and around this corner? Who would have guessed it but more  _bloody darkness_! Whomever had decided to place the torches so far apart deserved to be soundly punished. Preferably in the dark.

You wanted air. To move. To get away from your room. But you were surely lost now, wandering the endless labyrinthine corridors. You kept a hand to one wall - to guide you, or so you’d hoped - as you tried to wind yourself down. But so far you’d only managed to do the opposite. Your heart raced and your muscles tensed, preparing for whatever might come from the shadows. The flickering of distant torches kept you on your toes and you raced toward them cautiously, knowing that they were simultaneously a comfort and a danger, setting your mind at ease and exposing you to any threat. It didn’t help that each light threw ridiculous shadows against the stone, mimicking the many monsters you’d faced to get here.

This place was supposed to be  _safe_. It was supposed to be home. Or… you hoped it would be. No one had asked you or invited you per se but after everything you’d been through, you’d developed a bit of ownership over the newly reclaimed kingdom. That pride seemed to weaken slightly as you blindly wandered the halls.

In truth, you only wanted to sleep. It felt like ages since you’d been completely unconscious. You’d toss and turn, closing your eyes to find yourself completely, agonizingly awake. You ghosted through the halls during the day, dark shadows under your eyes as your body rebelled against its most natural inclinations. You longed for sleep like, well, like a certain dwarf you knew longed for his mountain: with every bit of yourself. However, unlike that certain dwarf, your goal was intangible and decidedly un-mountainlike. If anything it resembled a hole, dark and bottomless, something you wished to sink into, not climb.

Oín had offered you draughts and herbs, assuring you that they’d ease your mind and finally let you slumber. But they hadn’t. And you knew it was because you hadn’t been honest with the healer. You’d told him that you hadn’t been able to sleep since the battle; the blood, the death, the chaos of it all jolting you awake in the night. That kind of sleeplessness was common among warriors. Oín was prepared for that.

But that wasn’t why you weren’t sleeping. The real reason was far too embarrassing to mention.

You’d stopped truly sleeping long before that; when your leader had chosen to take his rest apart from the company. After the gold sickness had overtaken him. He’d shut himself away, in royal chambers far from the rest of you, and suddenly _sleep wouldn’t come._

When the quest began, you’d hated it. The dwarves were all very,  _very_  loud sleepers. How Thorin had ever thought you could evade your pursuers was beyond you – they’d simply have to wait until nightfall and follow the earth-shattering snoring, no expert trackers needed. After a great many sleepless nights, sitting awake as the ground beneath you seemed to vibrate with their endless noise, you stumbled upon a solution. An embarrassing, childish,  _mortifying_ solution, but a solution, nevertheless.

You found that if you slept near him, near your leader, that sleep came easily. Something about his deep, rumbling breath calmed you and broke through all of the other noise. Maybe it was the fact that he too rarely slept. If he was sleeping, it meant he felt safe. And if he felt safe, so did you. That had worked for you, through the  _entire_ quest. He’d even started to leave space for you near him, consciously or not.

And then he disappeared. Comforting snoring aside, the Thorin you’d come to know had fallen away from you, all of you. It had been agony. But the sickness was broken. The battle won. He and his nephews had been injured and terribly so, but had miraculously survived. And now Erebor needed him more than ever.

You’d think that since you were perpetually awake, you’d have more than enough time to interact with Thorin but he always seemed a blur. A very serious, very focused royal blue blur, winding through the halls with a cadre of councilors and workers at his heels, papers flying every which way. He made appearances at meals but was gone before you had a chance to even approach him. Erebor commanded all of his attention now – negotiating with neighboring kingdoms, reestablishing trade, working through plans for recovery and rebuilding, delegating a near infinite number of tasks and people – all while battling his injuries. And his endless multitasking seemed to be working. The plans, those you’d seen, were magnificent. Erebor  _would_  be grand again, a marvel to behold.

And though he never showed any signs of pain, Oín was always nearby. You often caught the tail end of the elderly healer’s scolding as they whizzed past. Always that he needed to heal. To  _rest_.

That made two of you.

Since the battle, you’d managed to speak one-on-one with Thorin a total of six times. And, though it embarrassed you to no end, you remembered  _every single word_. Maybe your unconscious hoped that holding onto his voice could be a substitute for the rumblings you missed so desperately. Most of your interactions had been in passing, but one in particular played on repeat in your head.

“How are you faring?” he said, his hand resting on your arm. He’d surprised you after a council meeting, appearing almost from nowhere. You were invited to that meeting in particular to see the plans for rebuilding the library – a prospect you found infinitely exciting but your body disagreed. Dazed against a wall, you’d been staring glassy-eyed at nothing in particular and hadn’t noticed the meeting had come to a close.

“Oh! Uh, well. And yourself?”

“Fine, fine,” he mumbled. He’d looked so tired, you remembered, his bright eyes unusually dim. He squeezed your arm momentarily, gazing off somewhere, thinking. Then he looked at you, smiled slightly, and departed.

Why did you remember  _that_  conversation out of all of them? The others had been longer, more important. All about the plans, about the work to be done. About your role in everything. And yet…

You wondered if he thought you rude. Or ungrateful. But you were simply  _exhausted_. You wanted to show your excitement, your enthusiasm for your potential new home, but your sleeplessness took its toll, making you appear disinterested and distant.

Oh, if you could only  _sleep_.

You often thought of those nights, sleeping near him. You’d felt comfort and safety in his mere presence unlike anywhere else in Arda. But you couldn’t very well expect to sleep near him  _now_. Even after the sickness broke. It wasn’t proper, to begin with, and how would you ever begin to explain?  _‘Oh, hello there, your majesty, would you be so kind as to let me sleep at the foot of your bed? I simply can’t sleep unless I can hear you snoring. No? How about on the floor? I’ll be quiet, I promise.’_

Yeah. That was not happening.

 _And_  you’d been given your own chambers in a highly reputable wing, or so you’d been told. It was an incredible gift, especially since you hadn’t expected to stay. You’d bid Bilbo goodbye weeks ago, as tearful as the others, but now you felt a pang of regret. You could have left with him and the wizard. Gandalf  _had_  offered to escort you wherever you wished, after all. But you made your choice: to make Erebor your home whether the bloody dwarves liked it or not.

…Had it been the wrong choice? Could going away have saved you from this torture? Was being near but  _not near enough_  the issue? Perhaps if you removed yourself, distanced yourself from him entirely, you’d stop missing his sound and comfort. You were lost in thought, hand grazing the stone wall next to you, when you bumped bodily into something and fell to the cold, stone floor, cursing.

“Damnable dark dwarf kingdom, can’t even walk straight without crashing into something. Probably bruised my backside. Stupid, cold, hard stone–”

“Are you alright?”

The voice tore through the silence and you panicked, wishing you’d grabbed a weapon.

“Who’s there?” you cried from the floor and flinched at your frantic high pitch.

“Y/N. It’s me,” the unmistakable voice said softly. You looked up into the darkness, wishing your eyes would adjust more quickly. _Oh, bullocks._

The hall quieted for a moment. Of course, it was him. Out of all the people you could run into in the dark, it was  _him_. The silence dragged and you could hear distant water dripping onto the rocks and your own heart, beating against your ribs wildly.

“Would you care for a hand?”

“No, no.”

“Are you going to get up?”

“Ah, but this wonderful stone is just so  _comfortable_.”

He chuckled and the tone danced along the corridor, echoing despite the low volume. You felt more than saw him lower to the floor to sit near you. A tense silence followed, as though primed for something to shatter.

Thorin, thankfully, broke the stillness, “Are you enjoying Erebor?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. It’s wonderful.”

“Despite the darkness and the ‘stupid’ stone?”

“…Yes. And despite the dwarf kings wandering the halls. Why, may I ask, are you awake at this hour?”

“Hm. Difficult to say,” he said then paused, perhaps in thought, before continuing, “You?”

“I believe we have the same answer.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Oín told me you were not sleeping well as of late. The battle?”

“Yes,” you lied. You  _liar_.

“I understand. I too have struggled with memory.”

You reached out into the darkness without thinking, hoping to comfort, and made contact with warm muscle.

“I– I’m not sure where I’m touching you, but I mean no offense.”

“It’s my knee, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank gods.”

He laughed. “That was your plan? To blindly reach for me and hope you didn’t touch somewhere I didn’t what you to?”

The words left his mouth and echoed down the hall, almost asking you to read further into the statement. You blushed, thankful that the darkness concealed your shock. Did he realize what he’d just implied? Surely not. Oh gods, you were still touching him. You quickly pulled your hand away.

“Not that, not that I  _want_  you touching me,” he said, clearing his throat, “That is, I don’t mind your hand on my knee, but I– hm. My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” you giggled, suddenly too warm in the cold darkness.

“How has the library been treating you? I heard you and Ori have made quite the pair, working through it all.”

“Oh, the library,” you sighed, thankful for the subject change, “It’s magnificent. I have never seen more books in my entire life. If I could spend every moment of my days there, I would.”

“Perhaps we will have to move your chambers nearer, to keep you from setting up camp.”

“Believe me, Ori has had to unbury and drag me from the room several times already.”

He chuckled. “No wonder you’re not sleeping.”

“Ah, that must be it. I’m too excited by knowledge to rest.”

“I– Hm,” he started, but cut himself off almost instantly.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something on this subject but I fear it too…”

You waited for him to finish the thought. On what subject? The library? Your brain started filling the gap with anything and everything. Too strange. Too familiar. Too cruel. Too what, Thorin?  _What?_

“Well, you won’t be able to see my reaction, if that’s a comfort,” you ventured.

“I can see quite well in this light, Y/N,” he said, a smile in his tone, “I  _am_  a dwarf.”

“O-Oh, of course,” you stammered, pulling down the edge of your nightgown. Face going hot once more, you realized just how little you were wearing. You’d left your room without thinking, exhausted and dazed, hoping that anything would help you sleep. You hadn’t even thought about how you’d find your way back to your room, only that you needed to get out of there. And so now here you were, splayed out on the floor beside the king, in only a thin, ill-fitting nightgown. “Well, that doesn’t seem entirely fair, now does it? Not all of us have eyes like a cat’s!”

“Then you really have no reason to wander about alone in the dead of night.”

“Or you have reason to better light your kingdom!”

He chuckled. “Duly noted. Perhaps you need to carry your own light.”

“Perhaps you should carry it for me,” you huffed, attempting to discreetly tuck your legs under your nightgown, “But you were going to ask me a question, my feline-eyed king.”

“Indeed,” he said and audibly swallowed, taking a momentary pause. “Would you– I would have– I do not mean to–,” he skipped over his thoughts and you realized you had never heard him stammer or struggle for words like this before. It was rather endearing. “I am not sleeping.”

“Evidently, given that you’re awake with me right now. But that’s not exactly a question.”

“I know, I know. But I have not been sleeping. I do not recall when last I slept.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I feel incredibly foolish, even thinking to ask this of you, especially given your own situation,” he laughed quietly.

“You can ask anything of me, Thorin.”

A momentary silence.

“Will you sleep with me?” Silence. And he flew into a panic, “I do not mean– I didn’t mean as– Not as– That did not come out as I intended. I am so very tired, my thoughts do not seem to reach my tongue. Or… my tongue does not seem to…  _Oh, kakhuf inbarathrag_.” 

“What exactly did you intend?” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t quavering.

He took a deep breath, “I don’t know if you are aware or not but during the quest, I took to… taking my rest near you. I find your presence a comfort, it seems. And without it – without  _you_  – I have not been able to sleep. If you would be willing to share my bed, I would be infinitely grateful. I understand that this is completely inappropriate and far too much to ask of you, but I honestly cannot think of another solution. If I have overstepped, I will not speak another word of it and I hope we can forget this conversation ever–”

“Yes.”

“I understand and I sincerely apologize for–”

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

Another silence filled the corridor and the air felt thick, as though the great forges had suddenly sprung to life. He cleared his throat and stood, “Come along then.”

You rose, far less quickly, “Thorin, I can’t even see you, how am I supposed to–”

He took your hand without hesitation, his grip sure and warm. Without any other stimulus, your hand felt electric under his touch, a spot of light in the dark. Then all at once he pulled you along, firmly but gently, winding through the nearly pitch black halls. He moved with determination, showing every sign that he knew precisely where he was going. Which was new, you thought, given his tendency to get lost in the simplest of places. Well, if he did get you lost, at least you wouldn’t be alone.

You could barely make out your surroundings as they flew past, washes of light illuminating the back of Thorin’s head as he led you faster, almost frantically, toward your destination.

He stopped suddenly and you nearly ran into him. A single streak of light leaked out from under a large set of doors. His chambers, you realized, and your throat tightened. Before you could react further, the doors flew open and you were pulled into the warm light.

The room came together like a puzzle of beautiful, striking images: the fireplace still ablaze and crackling; a book, left open on the dark velvet settee; a cup of something left to cool on an adjoining table; dark stone walls inlaid with patterns of gold and draped in rich, intricate tapestries; the floor, covered with thick furs. But Thorin led you on, from the sitting room beyond, to his private bedchamber.

Despite the size of the room and its contents, all you saw was the bed, large and imposing, set along the far wall and illuminated by a single lamp. Your heart fluttered at the sight and took up the wild rhythm you’d grown accustomed to during the quest: one of fear and excitement. Funny, you thought, that a simple piece of furniture could terrify you so, when you’d only just faced down orcs and wargs and other things that actively wanted to end your life. This was only a bed. A bed that marked an irreversible change in your relationship with a friend and leader, but still, only a bed. And bugger if that bedspread didn’t look more comfortable than anything else in the world.

You reached out to touch the tempting fabric and paused, hand floating in midair. When had you reached the foot of the bed? And furthermore, when had you stopped moving? You shook your head, feeling disoriented, and looked over to Thorin. He held your hand still but his eyes had drifted closed. Had he– had he fallen asleep on his feet? Oh. Oh,  _Thorin_. You squeezed his hand and he jolted, inhaling sharply.

“What is…? Oh.” He gathered himself, clearly embarrassed, then seemed to notice your lingering contact and let go of you as though burned. He retreated several paces before speaking. “I had no intention in bringing you here other than to–”

“I know.”

He nodded, then looked upon the bed, his eyes going wide, “One… one moment.”

You followed his gaze and saw that the bed covers were a mad jumble, clear evidence of his tossing and turning. He raced to the side of the bed and attempted to straighten the sheets, his face going a bit pink.

You watched him, amused despite yourself, and could finally see the extent of his exhaustion. For one who usually looked so put together and regal, now he looked, well, a bit of a mess. His face was drawn and tense, his eyes red-rimmed and framed by dark half-circles. His long hair was a tangled mess, run through one too many times with a restless hand. His dressing gown sat askew on his shoulders and hung partially open, the tie loose, revealing a stretch of furred chest – clearly, he, like you, hadn’t put much thought into his attire for the evening.

Sighing in sympathy, you took up the place on the opposite side of the mattress and fluffed up a pillow, helping to restore the bed to some semblance of civility. Though, in all honesty, you couldn’t care less.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said quietly, a sigh in his voice.

“It’s no bother.” You smiled, setting the pillows back into place and staring at them fondly. Oh, they were almost calling out to you. A silence and you finally tore your wistful gaze away to look at Thorin. He was watching you and when you made eye contact, his eyes quickly darted away.

“I usually sleep along this side, unless you’d prefer…”

“No, no, it’s fine! It  _is_  your bed, after all.”

“I do want you to be comfortable.”

“I will be, if these pillows are any indication.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. Then shed his dressing gown. 

Well.  _Good day, Your Majesty._  You stared, unabashedly, as he tossed the garment onto a nearby chair, leaving him in naught but a pair of light trousers. He’d always struck an imposing figure, but now you could see exactly what made up said figure and, ever the scholar, found yourself making a quick mental catalog. Broad shoulders, muscled and scarred from a lifetime of battle and labor. His arms, bulging with strength, winding down to work-hardened hands equally capable of brute force and delicate precision. A large, rather unexpected tattoo of a stylized raven tearing across his breast. Dark hair that trailed down from his impressive chest to his stomach before disappearing into his trousers and goodness, was it getting warm?

“I’m sorry, it’s inappropriate of me to– I’ll dress.”

You were surveying his powerful thighs and the way his trousers made that all the more obvious when you finally looked up. Thorin had gone red and turned swiftly away toward the wardrobe. Oh goodness, you’d been gawping like a hormone-crazed adolescent. You truly needed your sleep if this was the kind of control you had over your impulses.

“No, no, if that’s how you sleep, that’s fine,” you stopped him, hating the thought of imposing any more than you were. Though he invited  _you_  and– Oh goodness, your brain was so addled you couldn’t keep one bloody thing straight.

“…Are you certain?”

“Mhm,” you managed, your throat surprisingly dry.

He sighed and returned to the bed. He tossed back the covers and climbed in without looking at you, all but falling against the pillows. You, taking his cue, crawled in next to him and lay on your back. Finding yourself unable to revel in the fine quality of the bedclothes - divinely soft – you simply lay there, feeling strange. You pulled up the blankets and settled in as best you could.

A moment of stillness and Thorin moved to douse the lamp, leaving you both in darkness once more. Staring at the canopy, a strange, silent tension filled the room. Oh, this was very strange, wasn’t it? Very, very strange. You could feel his heat beside you, so very close beside you, and it only served to make you feel awake. More awake than ever, really. Oh bollocks, how could you possibly sleep if you couldn’t even relax? This was a horrible, stupid idea and you should just get up and–

“I must offer you thanks. For this,” Thorin ventured.

“Of course.”

Another silence, this one, unending. Your mind raced, going over each and every reason why this was probably the most idiotic thing you’d ever done. This would, without a shadow of a doubt, ruin your relationship with Thorin and how would you go about living in Erebor then?  _Let’s just sleep beside the king, why don’t we? It won’t muck up our life at all, no. Why did you always throw yourself into these ridiculous–_

Oh.

There it was. Thorin had fallen asleep, it seemed, and the room steadily filled with his even breath, his rumbling. Your eyelids began to sink, eased by the sleep song coming from the king.

Consciousness slipping away, you almost cried with glee.

 _Finally_.

**Author's Note:**

>  _kakhuf inbarathrag_ – Shit. Literally, ‘goat turd.’
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com) if y'like!


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